


Three Years

by xoxomj



Category: Jagged Little Pill - Morissette & Ballard/Morissette/Cody
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:49:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxomj/pseuds/xoxomj
Summary: It's the three year anniversary of MJ's overdose, and MJ has a difficult day.
Relationships: Mary Jane "MJ" Healy/Steve Healy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Morning

MJ wakes slowly, waking before Steve’s alarm. She had been doing so for the past few days; she’s not sure why. Nothing really was out of the ordinary, save for getting the house ready for the kids coming home from college for Christmas. She stares at the ceiling.

Today marks three years since she’s been sober.

Three years since she overdosed and was taken to the ER. 

She still doesn’t know what to do with this day. Is she supposed to celebrate it? She supposes she could celebrate her sobriety, but it also ends up feeling like she’s celebrating her overdose, which just doesn’t feel quite right.

Plus, there were a whole HOST of other things that happened that day. Words said, mostly. Words that still stung, echoing in her head whenever she thought about that day. Sometimes she can still hear Frankie yelling at her, telling her in essence that she isn’t her mom. Frankie has apologized profusely many times, and MJ does believe her, but a small part of her can’t help but think about that over and over again. A memory of how bad of a mother she’d been.

The past two years, they’d gone out to dinner as a family. She supposes that’s what they’d do tonight, unless she said otherwise, but this time both Frankie and Nick are not present. They’d be home in a few days though, after they finish their finals. MJ can’t wait.

She realizes she’d rolled out of Steve’s arms, and scoots herself back into his embrace. She feels his arm wrap around her again instinctively, and smiles slightly, snuggling into his warmth. Leaning against him, she closes her eyes again, hoping to sleep for just a little while longer.

But sleep doesn’t come, and she finds herself staring at the ceiling again, lost in her own thoughts, when Steve’s alarm goes off. “Morning, sweetie.” Steve murmurs, squeezing her gently.

“Morning.” She replies numbly. She slides out of bed and wordlessly heads into the bathroom, going through the motions of getting ready, as if on autopilot. Steve follows close behind, getting ready himself, observing her quietly.

He knows what day it is. He knows she likes little fanfare, he knows she’s still confused as to how to approach this day. He tries to gauge how she’s feeling, but she doesn’t speak at all, merely brushing her teeth and washing her face. It’s a little eerie how quiet she’s being. She avoids eye contact with him, and even avoids touching him, careful not to brush against his elbow or his shoulder on her way out.

He sighs after she leaves to go downstairs. At least she didn’t feel like she needed to be fully dressed and made up before breakfast anymore. He kind of preferred it when she stayed in her pajamas, her eyes still a little sleepy. He’s tempted to call out from work, but it’s the rush before the holidays, and he really has to finish stuff within the next few days so he can have a work free Christmas vacation.

MJ has breakfast ready for Steve when he comes downstairs. He takes the toast and juice from her and sits at the table, studying her out of the corner of his eye as she makes herself a cup of tea. Normally he’d grab his breakfast and go, but he’s been making an effort to sit and eat breakfast with MJ in the week leading up to today.

“Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?” Steve asks carefully, watching MJ absentmindedly take a sip of tea.

“I don’t know.” She replies, looking at him properly for the first time that morning. Her expression is scarily blank. “Can I decide later?”

“Of course sweetheart.” 

Steve is concerned. She’s... distant, somewhere lost in her own thoughts - which, he knows, can be dangerous and scary, especially with what today brings. He’s quickly going through his to do list to see if he CAN work from home today or not, but as if reading his mind, she gives him a small smile. “I’ll be fine.” She says softly.

“Are you sure? I think I can stay home-“

“No, you said yourself you have a lot to do before Frankie and Nick come back so you should go. I’ll be fine.” MJ insists.

“Well, if you need anything—“

“Yeah, I’ll call you. I know.” She smiles a little more, trying to give him peace of mind. And maybe herself too.

They both stand as he finishes his breakfast, and she follows him out of the kitchen into their entryway. As per their usual morning routine, she leans against the wall, watching him as he puts on his winter coat and scarf. He turns back to her and she approaches him, putting her tea down, moving to give him a hug and a kiss goodbye.

“Do you want me to stay home?” Steve repeats.

There’s a short pause.

“Of course. I always do, but you should go in. You should be home when the whole family is back.” She murmurs, hugging him tightly.

She holds him, though, for a tad bit longer than usual, pressing her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Steve is still tempted to stay home anyway. Well, he reasons with himself, if he did have to work when Frankie and Nick were home, at least MJ would have someone around and wouldn’t be alone-

“Okay, you should go before you have to wait another hour for the next train.” She says, interrupting his thoughts. She pulls away from him, still holding his hands. 

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” Steve gives her a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving out the front door. MJ takes a deep breath, staring at the spot Steve just left.

Now she’s alone.

Her skin prickles uncomfortably. Being alone was one of the hardest parts—no, definitely THE hardest part—of her weeks after rehab. She used to love it, prior to her overdose, considering it one of the few moments when she could really be herself, and not have to put on a facade. It used to feel freeing. But then she and her kids drifted apart, she and Steve drifted apart, and suddenly she felt so incredibly lonely. All the time. And she began her downward spiral into—

Anyway… immediately after rehab, Steve, Nick, and Frankie had taken turns staying home with her. While she’d initially balked at them purposely rearranging their lives for her, she was truly grateful for the presence of at least one other person at home. Eventually, she was left alone again (they couldn’t all be stay-at-home moms) but Steve checked in on her constantly, and she worked out a new daily routine with her therapist and her family to keep her occupied. It was a little harder when Nick and then Frankie left for college, but still—she kept a routine, and started to do little craft projects for herself. She was in the process of making a quilt.

But this felt so different. While the other two anniversaries, she also had been left alone, this feels… weird. She started off the day in a not so great state of mind, and the silence is deafening in her ears. 

She shakes her head, as if trying to shake off the immense sadness she’s been feeling since she woke up. She does have quite a list of things to do today: change Frankie and Nick’s sheets, clean out the fridge, vacuum the living room floor, go grocery shopping… She doesn’t feel like leaving the house today, though. Maybe she can ask Steve to go on his way home. Or she can go tomorrow... either way, a part of her knows she won’t be leaving the house today

She straightens up, picks up her tea, and goes back into the kitchen, determined to get the rest of her mental to do list done. She sets about making herself a fresh cup of tea. As she waits for the water to boil, she takes the notepad from its spot on the windowsill by the sink and begins to write down every item she has in mind to finish today.


	2. 11:00AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ thinks back to her fight with Frankie + has a panic attack about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sad :(

MJ pushes the door of Frankie’s room open, a laundry basket with clean sheets in it in hand. The room has been pretty much untouched since Frankie had come home for Thanksgiving, save for MJ making her bed and washing the dirty clothes she left behind. Frankie hadn’t really been home long enough to turn it into her usual mess. It used to bug MJ so much, but she finds herself missing Frankie’s messy room.

She takes the duvet off, folding it neatly and resting it on Frankie’s desk chair, carefully balancing pillows on top of it. She strips the sheets from the bed, tossing them onto the floor, before grabbing a clean sheet set from the laundry basket and stretching the fitted sheet across Frankie’s mattress.

She pauses to catch her breath. Making any bed is a weirdly physically strenuous endeavor for her. While she is still keeping up her physique and conscious of how her body might have compromised by her accident and her overdose, this has always been a chore that left her a little worn out. Something about the consistent back and forth movement and stretching…

She lies on Frankie’s clean sheets, staring up at the ceiling, taking a moment before resuming making the bed. She closes her eyes briefly; wrong move. Her mind immediately goes to three years ago, on this exact day, when she was in this very room. She covers her face with her hands and curls into a fetal position, every painful beat of that fight with Frankie coming back in full force.

Coming home from that already painful therapy session, that brought up all sorts of issues she did not want to discuss. 

Running into Jo.

Jo telling them Frankie was having sex with a boy she just met.

The three hundred thoughts that rushed into her head as she ran into the house, up the stairs, two at a time, and into Frankie’s room.

The rest is a hazy blur with pockets of clarity, moments and words that echo in her brain over and over. She remembers Frankie angrily packing, speaking, arguing, yelling. Steve yells back. She remembers wondering when the last time she’d heard him yell like this was; he was never home enough to really get into it with the kids.  
She curls herself into a tighter ball, shaking, as her heart thumps faster, her breath shortening. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and her head pounds incessantly. She needs to get up, finish making Frankie’s bed, but she can’t stop herself. She’s spiraled too far already.

“You would be unclear on agency.”

“You don’t have any problem with what happened to Bella.”

Those words stung so much. She doesn’t remember understanding why in the moment, but now, it makes so much sense. She squeezes her eyes shut, still shaking. She remembers trying to control herself, feeling herself on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but people were around, she couldn’t have one right in Frankie’s room. Well, now, here she is in Frankie’s room having a goddamn nervous breakdown. But there’s no one around.

Frankie apologized over and over and over, when MJ finally told her what had happened to her back in college. She initially wasn’t sure whether Frankie had remembered exactly what she said, but then Frankie brought it up later, apologizing for how insensitive her comments were. And she believed Frankie, but that doesn’t take away the sting. That is certainly not what instigated her mental breakdown leading to her eventual decision to shove an entire bag of opioids down her throat… but it certainly added to the snowballing reasons as to why she was emotionally distressed and the immense feelings of shame on her mind.

Get up, get up, get up, she tells herself. But she can’t move. Her muscles are frozen in that position, forcing her to relive one of the worst moments of her life. She holds her shoulders, trembling, her chest constricting and making it hard to breathe. 

“I am not your child… You don’t own me.”

Those words cut the most.

She remembers feeling like Frankie had taken a knife and stabbed it through her chest.

Actually, she didn’t really process that Frankie had said that till afterwards. But when she sat in her bedroom, reviewing the fight that they had with Frankie and then the fight with Steve afterwards, she realized what it had meant. 

Basically, Frankie said that MJ wasn’t her mother anymore. That was how she interpreted it. She’d tried to think of other ways to interpret it, later, but once she understood that version, she couldn’t think of anything else. Literally nothing else.

She spent so much time in her life agonizing over whether she’d done the right thing, 1) adopting Frankie, and 2) parenting her the way she did, especially when she and Frankie were not as close as they used to be. When she realized Frankie was drifting farther and farther away from her, she questioned every parenting decision she made. Was she being too pushy, or not pushing hard enough, was she expecting too much, or not expecting enough, was she being too controlling, on and on and on and on and on and suddenly each and every thing remotely Frankie-related was something she was insecure about. But then sometimes — no, oftentimes, she couldn’t control herself — and then she’d find herself arguing for far too long with Frankie over the way she put her backpack on her chair or something as trivial as that.

At the time, though, she hadn’t realized just how deep her insecurities were, particularly about motherhood — or rather, she knew they were there, but she didn’t realize just how badly it affected her psyche. Or how much she loved Frankie, and needed Frankie to be her daughter. She knew she felt hurt by their dissolving relationship, and that she missed young, loving Frankie so much. But instead of dealing with that, telling Frankie yes she loves her, yes she accepts her for who she is even if it’s not what she knows, yes she is proud of her… instead of doing all of that, MJ just continued to mother her in the way she thought was best. Or, rather, smother her, protecting her so intensely, doing too much for her when Frankie should have been discovering and learning that all on her own. And so then, they fought. And when they fought, she pushed all of Frankie’s buttons so Frankie pushed all of her buttons and that was just added to the growing heap of shitty feelings she was trying to bury in an overflowing hole and —

A sharp pain shoots through her chest and she gasps, her breath catching. as the intrusive thoughts spin endlessly inside her brain. She crosses her arms over her chest, clutching her shoulders, trying to stop herself shaking. She can feel the exhaustion start to settle in her bones from the intensity of her panic attack, the rapid downward spiral of her thoughts.

She knows she’s been in this state for far too long, and needs to calm down. Get up, MJ. Take a deep breath. Remember — in for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. 

“In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.” She manages to whisper hoarsely. It’s working — somewhat.

She tries to pick something to focus on in Frankie’s room, a point that she can zero in and keep her eyes trained on. She scans Frankie’s room for something to look at, and then realizes something by Frankie’s bed that she hadn’t seen before. Frankie always kept a photo frame by her bed, but for a long time it was of her and Jo. She didn’t know when Frankie had changed it. But she also didn’t look at it closely, until right now, as she lay paralyzed with panic on Frankie’s bed. 

It’s a photo of MJ and Frankie from when Frankie was 5 years old.

They’re at a park.

MJ is holding Frankie as they come down a slide. Frankie is laughing, her arms outstretched. MJ is obviously tired, but clearly very happy.

She focuses all the energy she can muster on taking breaths in that pattern, forcing every other thought out of her brain, staring at the photo, bringing herself back to that memory as best she can. She focuses on the part of the photo where Frankie’s little hand holds onto hers, her small fingers grasping MJ’s wrist. 

Miraculously, because there’s no way MJ two years ago could have done this herself, she manages to sit up and take a deep breath. She closes her eyes, briefly dizzy because she hadn’t been breathing properly.

She continues to breathe deeply, reciting “in for 4, hold for 7, out for 8” out loud, the pain in her chest not subsiding. But her breathing is evening out.

She glances at the half made bed.

Right. Back to the task at hand.

She sighs, the sadness of today still lingering, sitting heavily in her bones, but feeling a tiny bit calmer.

She finishes making Frankie’s bed and tosses the dirty sheets into the laundry basket. Before she closes the door to Frankie’s room, she glances back at the photo by Frankie’s bed.

Frankie IS her daughter.

The smallest hint of a smile graces MJ’s face briefly. But a second later it leaves, and the numb, sad feeling from earlier settles in again.

She checks her list of tasks. Still a lot to get done, still a lot of day to pass, still a lot of alone time.

Shaking her head, as if trying to shake herself out of her funk she know she can’t shake off, she continues with her list, thoughts still buzzing in her head.


End file.
